


The sound of her wings

by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Doom Fusion, F/F, Gen, Prompt Fic, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphim_grace/pseuds/DarkAthena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr Martin offers Convict Argent a deal</p><p>Title from Neil Gaiman's Sandman</p>
            </blockquote>





	The sound of her wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fallen-wolves](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fallen-wolves).



> prompt by fallen-wolves
> 
> Lydia is Death and falls in love with Allison, who is going to die of a terminal illness.
> 
> however my muse didn't like that, she thought on it, chewed on it, and came up with this instead
> 
> the terminator and Doom references are very deliberate - for those that don't know the Arizona facility is where they found the ark which allowed them to go to Mars  
> I wanted to riff on the scene in Terminator - salvation 
> 
> also Cunningham is the name of the guard in silent hill downpour

Allison sat at the small table in the room that UAC had arranged in the prison for these meetings. It was a cell, larger than Allison's own, with a table placed in it. The fittings and fixtures had all been ripped out and the table had a small coffee set on it.

Guard Cunningham led Allison there, removed her cuffs and admonished her with a sarcastic leer to be good.

Unlike most of the other organisations UAC were mostly above board. They owned the prison, which was not unusual, many of the large prisons in the US were privately owned, but UAC, Union Aerospace Corporation, weren't the sort that made money from prison labour. What they wanted from this prison – they got – test subjects.

Any one could donate their body to medical science for the training of doctors or for doctors to learn about diseases, but to donate your body to a corporation you needed to be in a position where your death was certain, that you had been screened clear of interesting diseases, and be in good health. The best resource for this was Death Row.

It meant for the five years the government allowed you to appeal your case, something modern tech, courtesy of companies like UAC, made harder and harder, you were treated to nutritious food, rehab, exercise, even conjugal visits with selected recipients – all to make your donation to the cause more worth while.

Allison was no exception.

There were other companies of course, Cyberdyne worked primarily with the concept of cyberisation, or creating cyborgs, so there were often prisons were Death Row inmates had limbs replaced, or eyes. Sometimes prison violence might not have been as contained to the inmates where such things were on offer – a lifer who lost a hand might agree to be a test subject. It was win win.

Allison wasn't in the dark about what UAC wanted from her. She just had no reason to give it to them.

Dr Martin came in, Cunningham sliding open the door to the cell for her, and she smiled wanly before she sat down.

Dr Martin was dying.

She was beautiful, in a lost, tired way, with a red wig that was clearly there to mimic her own hair but her lack of eyebrows showed aggressive chemotherapy. The beautifully tailored skirt suit hung a little too loosely on her frame and despite the gold shadow used to brighten them her eyes were set in dark bruises. When she had started coming here she had been beautiful, slightly plump, and capable. Now she was thin and tired.

It said a lot that these meetings were the highlight of Allison's week. Judging by Dr Martin the last few months of Allison's sentence were going to be lonely.

“Sign the form, Allison,” Dr Martin said quietly. “You know what it's for. I don't want to go through it all again.”

“your cancer.” Allison said, “how long?”

“Weeks.” Dr Martin replied, playing with her wig. “UAC is making great strides in mitochondrial research at the Arizona facility.” There were rumours about the Arizona facility, that it covered space exploration. That they had found something there. “But even if you had signed the forms the week you were convicted it would be too late for me. You know that.” Dr Martin sighed. She had been very beautiful. 

“I could reach across the table and strangle you.” Allison said it as an offer, not a threat. It would be quick, and Allison only had three months left of her sentence, it didn't make much difference to her.

“My research will save a lot of lives.” Dr Martin corrected her. “Maybe not with cancer but with many other degenerative diseases, sign the form.”

She pushed it, and a gold pen across the table. Allison could have used the pen to kill her, stab her in the neck and get dragged out by Cunningham, with blood all over her black overalls. It would be a mercy. Her grandfather had died of cancer. It had been slow and ugly and hurt. He would have done anything to live a little longer. Allison gave up that right five years ago.

“Do I look like the type to care about saving lives?” Allison asked, “I am in here for multiple murders, and I did do it, I've never appealed, or denied it.” Her voice was calm as she answered it.

“Test subjects,” Dr Martin corrected. “and you put them down because they needed to be put down, I've never blamed you for what you did, Allison, now sign the form.”

“I killed your husband.” Allison said bluntly. “I gored him like a pig.”

“My husband killed himself when he took the serum.” Dr Martin repeated firmly. “Sign the form.”

“What will you give me to sign it?” Allison said. Death Row inmates were treated well, the food was good, there was exercise and education available – because UAC wanted the best subjects it could get.

“What do you want?” Dr Martin linked her fingers together. “I am authorised to give you a lot. I would have thought the extra year as a specimen would appeal to you, being prepared to be the mother of humanity's next evolution. We'd move you to the Arizona facility, you'd have everything you need until the experiment run it's course.” Dr Martin's work required fetal cells, she had explained that before, but nothing that would harm the child. A child born of that science, but they needed a mother.

Allison was quiet as she thought about it. “A kiss.” She said finally. “Kiss me and I'll sign the forms.”

For a moment Dr Martin was replaced by Lydia, the girl she had worked with in the UAC facility, the formality and hardness of the language was gone, then Dr Martin returned.

“I'll see you next Wednesday, Convict Argent.”


End file.
